Page 52 of Fang

“One down!” I shout, already swinging around to target the second SUV. But it’s hanging back now, the driver more cautious after witnessing his companion’s fate. I fire three more shots, but the distance is too great, the angle too poor.

“I need a better shot!” I yell over the wind.

Fang nods, understanding immediately. He slams on the brakes, the ambulance protesting with a screech of abused tires. The sudden deceleration sends me forward against the dashboard, but I’m ready for it, maintaining my grip on the weapon. The pursuing SUV, caught by surprise, closes the gap too quickly.

Perfect.

I take aim at the driver, now clearly visible through the windshield—a man with a shaved head and a scar bisecting his left eyebrow. I recognize him with a jolt. Mako, one of the cartel’s best hunters. He recognizes me too, his eyes widening a fraction before I squeeze the trigger.

The bullet never reaches him. The slide locks back—empty.

“Give me your gun!” I yell to Fang, ducking back inside as Mako raises his own weapon.

Without hesitation, Fang pulls a second pistol from an ankle holster and tosses it to me. I catch it with practiced ease, my fingers finding the grip naturally. In one fluid motion, I lean back out the window and fire twice. The first shot misses, but the second finds the SUV’s front tire, blowing it out with a loud bang.

Mako fights to maintain control, but physics works against him. The SUV skids sideways, leaving black streaks of rubber on the asphalt before slamming into a brick wall with bone-crushing force. The front end crumples like an accordion, steam hissing from the ruined engine block.

“Go!” I shout, pulling myself back into the ambulance.

Fang doesn’t need to be told twice. He floors the accelerator, and the ambulance lurches forward, the engine screaming in protest but responding. We speed past the wreckage, leaving the cartel vehicles behind us. In the side mirror, I see figures moving around the second SUV—survivors, but in no condition to continue the pursuit.

“You okay back there?” Fang calls through the partition.

“We’re good,” Scalpel’s voice responds, sounding surprisingly calm. “Patient’s stable. Nice driving.”

“Nice shooting,” Fang counters, glancing at me with something like awe in his expression. A grin spreads across his face—the wild, adrenaline-fueled smile of someone who’s just cheated death. “Who taught you to shoot like that?”

I return his smile, feeling the same rush of survival euphoria. “At least the cartel was good for something,” I reply, ejecting the magazine and checking the chamber. Only one bullet left. Hopefully I won’t need it.

“Remind me never to piss you off,” he says, his eyes returning to the road as he navigates toward the outskirts of the city.

I laugh, the sound surprising me with its genuine warmth. “Too late for that. You pissed me off the moment we met.”

“And yet here we are,” he says softly, the smile still playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Here we are,” I agree, glancing back through the partition where I can just make out Rory’s form on the gurney, Scalpel hovering protectively nearby.

We’ve rescued Rory, survived the cartel’s immediate pursuit, and found people willing to risk everything to help us. The road ahead is still uncertain, filled with threats I can barely imagine, but right now, in this moment, we’re alive. We’re together. And for now, that’s enough.

I reach over and briefly squeeze Fang’s arm, the touch conveying what I’m not ready to say aloud. He nods, understanding without words.

“Let’s get your brother out of Mexico,” he says, pressing the accelerator harder as we leave the city lights behind and race toward the private airport.

“I can’t wait to go home,” I say, turning to look out the window.

Home.

What a strange concept. I haven’t felt at home in over a decade. What would home even look like for me and Rory? Until now, I haven’t given it any consideration, but I need to figure it out. Rory still needs medical care, but Scalpel’s going to help us with that. I’ll have to avoid being seen until the cartel finds someone else to focus on. Beyond that, I’m free to start a new life.

Sliding a glance at Fang, I wonder how he’ll fit into this equation. I’m not sure about the details, but I do know one thing—I’m not ready to walk away from Fang… and suspect he feels the same way.

Chapter 20: Fang

The wheels of the van crunch over the gravel as I pull into the clubhouse lot, the familiar silhouette of the UVMC NOLA building rising against the twilight sky. Home. After the chaos of Mexico, the gunfire and the constant rush of adrenaline, it’s good to be home.

I glance in the rearview mirror at Mina cradling her brother’s head in her lap, his eyes closed but chest rising steadily. We made it. Against impossible odds, we extracted Rory from the cartel’s clutches and brought him back alive. But we had to haul ass out of Mexico, so we had no choice but to leave all the medical equipment behind. We need to get him hooked up ASAP.

After I kill the engine, Vapor’s van pulls in behind us. The deep-throated roar of motorcycles follows—a group of patched members met us at the airport to escort us the rest of the way. Despite the exhaustion etched into every muscle, my senses remain hyperalert, scanning the street for any threats.

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